Chapter 4, continued
[email protected]
A slick professional air hung about the Wellerton Police Station, the kind that made visitors nervous, suspects sweat, and police officers as merry as could be. The front desk was vacant when they entered, but a sign told them that they were being watched and would be helped momentarily. In a few moments, a large balding officer in uniform waltzed out from a back room,
"What can I do for you?" he asked, his expression bleak, as though no news could be good when it interrupted the game. What the game was tonight, Don had no idea, but he was sure they'd interrupted something. Don cleared his throat,
"Sir, I'm Donald Calder and this is my partner Jeremy Fox--"
"If you're being harassed, you're going to have to come back in the morning and fill out a form, then you'll need to see Officer Drakewood. If that's all. . ."
Don was speechless for a second, "No, sir, we're investigators. . . Jeremy is my. . . we're. . .investigators. Calder and Fox Investigatory Services? 901 Broody St.? I--"
The cop's face twisted into a slow smile, "Ohhhh," he said, "you'll have to excuse me, we get a lotta them folk around here, ya know? Always complaining about something or other. I just tell 'em to come back in the morning so I don't have to deal with it." He gave a short laugh, "Bernard Drakewood? That man would hate me if he knew. He complains 'bout as much as them, but it's funnier when he say it, ya know?" Don let out a small, forced laugh,
"Sure," he said. This guy was about as smart as he was rude. He sent a pleading look to Jeremy, who smiled and began the suave-routine.
"Well, Officer. . .?"
"Rushmore. Baty Rushmore." Don faked a cough to cover a laugh and could see Jeremy failing
to hide his smirk.
"Well, Officer. . .Rushmore. As Don, here told you, we're private investigators. We run an office on the East Side, Calder and Fox. Right now we're working a case for Mrs. Kate Richard, who hired us to---"
"Ohhhhhh," Rushmore did the twisted smile thing again, "the loony who popped her kids. . . or tried to pop 'em anyway. Yea, yea, she would try and get someone to prove it wudn't her wouldn't she?" He let out a dry chuckle that sounded like something between a donkey bleat and the laugh of Goofy the cartoon. Don snapped to attention,
"Excuse me?"
"Well, you know. . . we're just working on the hard stuff now. We're pretty sure it was her. Look at the record, right?" Don was completely taken aback,
"Sir, the reason we came here was to ask to see any files on Mrs. Kate Richard or anyone in her immediate family. We haven't seen the records. We just got the case today." Rushmore swallowed and wrinkled up his forehead,
"Alright, I'm gonna have to see some identification. . ."
Two hours later, Don and Jeremy were back in Jeremy's pick up. Each was staring blankly at the space in front of him, and each held a folder of photocopies on his lap. Don licked his chapped lips mindlessly to no avail, all his spit had dried up in the last two hours. He cleared his throat, and Jeremy broke his stare to look toward Don.
"This is going to be even harder than we thought," Don mumbled. He rose his eyes to meet Jeremy's, who nodded.
"I know."
"How is that possible?" Don said, his voice barely above a whisper. Jeremy simply shook his head in bafflement. He reached down and turned the key in the ignition.
"Early start tomorrow, you think?" he asked, quietly. It was Don's turn to nod. He was utterly speechless.
[email protected]